Laughter and Bed
by sap1066
Summary: Nine/Rose. Sex. Romance. Orange monkeys.
1. Chapter 1

It was actually possible to be laughed into bed, thought Rose. She was definitely in bed, and she was definitely in bed with the Doctor, because she could see him out of the corner of her eye, arms folded, legs crossed, not happy. Neither of them was doing the laughing.

They had stopped off on this planet on the way to somewhere else, she was sure of that. Everywhere was just on the way to somewhere else if you thought about it hard enough. This particular pitstop on the time travel highway had a long and complicated name and the Doctor had got bored with repeating it to her before she had remembered it. But then, she couldn't remember the name of the place they were supposed to be going to either and that had been a lot shorter. She thought that she should probably stop asking and save them both the effort.

They were here because he wanted to pick up some more psychic paper, have a look for some hideously obscure book or other and because they had run out of milk again. In the middle of the ever changing panoply of time and space the need for tea was a reliable constant. They hadn't got round to the tea yet though. On stepping out of the TARDIS she had found herself in the middle of a forest, the massive boles of the trees surrounding her like pillars, stretching high above to a canopy she couldn't see. It was quite dark, and she had had to take his hand to make sure she didn't get lost along the non existent trail he appeared to be following. They hadn't talked much. He seemed preoccupied and she was getting bored.

That was before they had been attacked by a horde of bright orange monkey creatures, no taller than her waist but carrying guns three times their size. They peeled themselves off from the trees faster than she could blink and within an instant she and the Doctor were surrounded. He seemed vaguely surprised, almost curious, as he made introductions, explained the purpose of their visit, repeated the usual assurances about meaning no harm. The monkey people had laughed at him.

It was a warm, full bodied laughter, musical almost, with different tones and cadences added as more and more of the little people spoke. She couldn't remember the last time she had heard so much laughter. Translated by the TARDIS though, what they were saying wasn't funny. She was left in no doubt that their presence wasn't welcome, that they were intruding on some sanctified space, had broken a ritual taboo and would be dealt with accordingly. The Doctor had stood silent throughout the debate, his brows creased in a frown and he hadn't even tried to argue. Unresisting, they had both been searched, had lost everything they carried to the dexterous hands of their captors, before being bound and encouraged through the forest with the vigorous application of a very large gun to the back.

The trees began to thin out and they entered a small clearing, dominated by a timber built house, thatched with branches. They were forced up the steps and inside to the accompaniment of more of the melodic laugher, which this time gave them to understand that they had a few more hours of liberty before they were taken out and shot. Freed of their bonds, the door behind them was closed, barred with what sounded like several small trees and they were left alone.

The Doctor had immediately crossed to the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room and thrown himself on it with some disgust. As prisons went, she thought, this wasn't all bad. In fact, she had been in worse hotels. The room was relatively large, square, the walls roughly plastered and whitewashed and the wooden floor smooth and shining underfoot. Although there were no windows two small openings high up in one wall provided enough breeze to stop the room feeling uncomfortable. Hundreds of tiny candles had been placed on the floor along three of the walls, their glittering reflections picked up in the polished boards. Against the other wall was a huge bed, the headboard comprised of turned wood in sinuous waves, contrasting with the simplicity of the white sheets below.

The Doctor was lying, half propped up against the pillows, his leather clad arms folded across his chest, his legs crossed, right foot tapping the air in impatience. He was glaring at her.

She raised her arms skyward, 'How can this possibly be my fault?' she asked.

'I'm sure it will be in the end,' he growled at her.

She shook her head in resignation and perched on the end of the bed. 'At least take your shoes off,' she asked, beginning to unlace her trainers.

His boots hit the floor one after the other in mute annoyance. 'I'm sleeping on the left,' he demanded as she boosted herself backwards until she was resting against the pillows next to him.

She had never been in bed with the Doctor before. It was a new, and definitely embarrassing situation, but one that sent a tingle of guilty excitement through her nevertheless. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She wondered if he snored, if he was the sort to steal all the covers in the middle of the night. She wondered if there was a man alive who didn't steal the covers in the middle of the night. She opened her mouth.

'Don't even think about it,' he said.

Crossing her own arms across her chest she didn't miss a beat. 'So how do we get out of here?' she asked.

'No idea,' he answered, 'lost the sonic screwdriver. Got any suggestions?'

She considered, 'Dig the floor up, burn the hut down, wait until they let us out and run for it.'

He turned his head, gave her a withering look. 'Don't have a crowbar. Or a deathwish. We'll just have to wait,' and he closed his eyes. Opened one a crack and stared at her, 'No snoring.'

She turned her head fully, wasting one of her most venomous expressions on his tight shut eyes, serene face. She didn't want to wait, she was too restless. She sat up, shifted her pillows, lay back, turned on one side, then the other, coming to rest facing him. She occupied herself for a couple of minutes imagining what he would look like with a beard, with long hair, with a handlebar moustache, before he told her to stop staring at him — still with his eyes closed.

When she couldn't stand the silence any more she poked him in the arm. 'Doctor?'

'Rose,' he answered with an edge of exasperation.

'Let's play a game, I'm bored.'

'Alright,' he said, eyes still closed. 'I spy with my little eye...'

She slapped his arm. 'No, something else. Tell me a secret. Tell me something I don't know.'

He smiled faintly, didn't open his eyes. 'Alright, I'm head over heels in love with you and it's all I can do to stop myself ravishing you where you lie.'

She slapped his arm again. 'Not funny. How about truth or dare?'

He shrugged, indifferent.

'Right — tell me about what really happened on Satellite Five, and I don't mean that dodgy story where you skim over the ending.'

That made him look at her, turning over so that they were lying face to face. His eyebrows lifted, 'Dare,' he said.

'If you insist' — she liked a challenge — 'I dare you to do a strip tease, and I want the whole thing right — no getting coy when we get to the underwear.'

His eyebrows had risen so far they were practically lost in his hair. 'Truth, then,' he said, and she noted a delicious colour in his cheeks. 'You came back in the TARDIS, you destroyed the Daleks and developed a case of raging megalomania before I took the power away and put it back where it belonged.'

'Yes, yes,' she said, 'I know all that, but the bit I don't get is — if I'm all powerful, if I've got the vortex running though my head — how did you get it off me in the first place? That's the bit you never said.'

He mumbled something.

'What? Sorry?

Another mumble.

'No, you're going to have to speak up.'

'Alright, alright, I kissed you,' he shouted, thoroughly annoyed at being made to say it.

'Ah,' she said, 'now I understand,' looking at him with a mixture of amusement and affection. He refused to meet her eyes, turning onto his back again. She was suddenly, obscenely happy at having dragged this secret out of him, and more pleased by the thought that he had wanted to kiss her than she would have admitted to. 'I wonder why I don't remember,' she mused.

'Wasn't one of my best,' he muttered darkly.

'Really?' she brightened. 'So there is something you're terrible at,' and she was about to go on before she realised that she couldn't move her lips. He had rolled over, taken her face between his hands and covered her mouth with his before she could react. She was so surprised by the gentle pressure of his lips against hers, the warmth of his tongue as it tested the slightly open curve of her mouth that she just lay there, still.

As soon as he started, he stopped, returned to the opposite side of the bed. 'Now, tell me that was terrible,' he asked. 'Actually, don't. That's not my question. What I want to know is — why do you think I'm being funny?'

They were back to truth or dare, she realised, bewildered by his mercurial changes of mood. 'Funny about what?' she asked.

'I said, I'm head over heels in love with you and I want to ravish you where you lie. I want to know why that's so funny.'

He was grinning at her, she noticed, and he was definitely playing, although this wasn't the sort of game she had expected from him. She felt an answering smile spread itself across her face, accompanied by a rush of warmth through her stomach. This was a game she understood, and there were far worse thing to be doing in a couple of spare hours before getting shot dead.

She raised her chin. 'Dare,' she said, fixing him with a level stare.

'Right, you asked for it — and you did, really, ask for it. I want a striptease, with whatever you said about the underwear.'

'Fine with me,' she said, flinging herself off the bed, 'just tell me when you want me to stop.'

'I won't want you to stop,' he answered, with a challenge of his own.

'Middle of the bed then, please,' she ordered, pulling off her socks and taking her hair down.

He moved to the middle, plainly confused. Circling round to the end, she braced her hands on either side of his feet and began to crawl slowly, gradually, up over him, arms and legs straddled across his body, not touching him with anything apart from the occasional brush of hair, keeping her eyes fixed on his all the way. She could see the beginnings of embarrassment in his face, as well as his determination not to back down. She stopped when her hips were directly over his, straightened up, her thighs spread across him but hovering just a fraction above his trousers. She had his undivided attention now. She hoped he was regretting the dare, because she had absolutely no intention of stopping.

She placed both hands on her waist, inched them up her stomach, cupping her breasts, running them up her throat as she tilted her head back and then slowly returned her fingers to the zip of her top. He seemed to be having trouble focusing, his eyes flicking towards her and away, as she gently lowered the zipper, pushing the fabric back over one shoulder, two, before dropping it behind her entirely. She bent back down over him, hands on either side of his head, clad only in her bra, her hair falling in a river on either side of their faces as she breathed gently into his mouth. She began to retreat back down his body on her hands and knees, her breasts nearly, nearly touching his chest until her mouth was level with the fly of his jeans. She looked up at him then, a sultry smile pinned to her face and she saw how fast he was breathing, how his eyes were locked on her mouth. She reached behind her and began to unhook her bra.

He yanked his hands up to his eyes. 'Alright — you win,' he said raggedly. 'Stop.'

She laughed, and climbed off him, returning to her position next to him on the bed.

He turned to face her. 'Nice bra,' he commented, 'aren't you going to cover it up?'

'I've got the matching set on', she answered, 'and no, seeing as you like it, I don't think I will.' She saw him swallow and suppressed a laugh. 'So, you lose,' she said, 'it's my turn again.'

The unexpected pleasure of being trapped in a room with him, with nothing but a bed and candlelight for company, and nowhere else to be was eating away at her inhibitions. She had always been aware at the back of her mind that there had been something between them, a sparkling attraction mixed with hints of something deeper, more submerged. Now it was surfacing.

'My question is — are you serious? You actually love me and you want to…' she jerked her head suggestively.

He sighed, sat up next to her, removed his coat at last and threw it on the floor. Lying back down he put his hands behind his head. 'You know that's two questions don't you? And I'm not telling you if I'm serious because I'm taking the dare.'

She snorted, 'You'll only have to tell me when you fail.'

'I'm not going to fail, Rose.'

'Oh yes? In that case,' and she took a deep breath, nervous and excited about the thought that had insinuated its way into her head. 'Your dare is to make me…' and she jerked her head again, 'you know. Without touching.'


	2. Chapter 2

Her cheeks flaming, she didn't dare look over to see his reaction. There was a brief pause. He sat up, peeled off his jumper, arched his hips to slide off his jeans. 'Right, let's have a look at this matching set then,' he said.

She closed her eyes and stripped off her trousers, lay unmoving on the bed, arms at her sides, her whole body quivering with embarrassment and anticipation. After a while of holding herself steady, she cracked open her eyes, trying to see where he was, what he was doing. She saw him waiting patiently next to her, his gaze fixed on her face, no trace that he was anything other than completely relaxed. When he saw her looking he smiled, but it was a long, slow smile she didn't recognise, a hungry smile, a knowing smile. It made her shiver.

'Open your eyes,' he commanded, in a deeper voice than she was used to. She did so.

'Now, open your legs.'

The intimacy of his tone, the words he had never used to her before sent an instant rush of warmth glowing inside her. Her thighs felt weak as she shifted them apart and he took up position between her legs, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. His face was directly above hers, his eyes fastened on her, but as his lips came down her eyelids flickered shut and she helplessly raised her mouth for his kiss.

So close she could feel the whisper of his breath against her tongue he stopped. 'I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to do it,' he murmured into her mouth. 'Now, open your eyes.'

She couldn't help but obey his demand and the thought of being totally within his control added another layer of heat to the throbbing already starting between her legs. His hot breath warmed the recesses of her mouth once more before his lips circled around under her jaw to her ear. She almost yelped when she felt his mouth enclose her earlobe, not touching but sending shivers of heat down her neck. He breathed once into her ear and then followed the trail of her tremors across the sensitive skin of her throat, pausing at the hollow between her collarbones, inching lower. The path of his breath left a hot wake through her skin and when she felt his lips so close to her nipple she heard herself moan. But he didn't touch her, feathering her breast with the heat from his open mouth, until she was standing up taut for him through the material of her bra.

When he said, 'Take it off,' she fumbled quickly with the fastening. She ached for the feel of his lips on her, tasting her, sucking her, but she knew he wouldn't and the knowledge only aroused her more.

'Touch yourself,' he directed, and she found she was so overtaken with the response of her body that she didn't hesitate to bring her hands up to her breasts, imagining that it was his hands on her, his skin against hers. He controlled the movements of her fingers with his words as his mouth crept lower, his breath brushing over her stomach, moving by gradual, teasing stages lower, lower, until his head was positioned directly between her thighs.

At the first touch of his breath down there she jerked upwards, her hips raising towards him, a moan escaping her throat. The rhythm of his breathing and the close, but not close enough heat of his mouth sent spasms of desire running through her and she burned for him to touch her. He could tell.

'Strip,' he commanded, and she watched him watch her obey.

'Show me,' he said, and she felt no shame as she moved her hands down to spread herself before him. With clear and quiet directions he told her how to touch herself, where and how to move her fingers until she was sure he knew her body better than she knew it herself. Her eyes closed, she did everything he wanted, moving under his control and forgetting that they were separate people at all, her fingers only an extension of his desire. Eventually, she cried out, arching against the pressure of her own hand and when she felt the heat of his mouth on her again, she lost control entirely, feeling herself shudder into orgasm, knowing he was watching.

'I think,' he said, returning to face her, his eyes shining and his chest rising in unsteady waves, 'that I win that dare. My question is — do you want me?'

She could only manage to nod.

'I'll take that as the truth then,' he said, divesting himself of his underwear and thrusting himself quickly inside her. He was so ready for her, and it was such a relief to feel him moving within her at last, that their coupling was brief, fiery, all consuming.

When she awoke later she found that he did indeed snore, and her attempts to wrest some of the sheets back had no effect on the weight of his slumber. The dim light filtering though the high openings in the wall brought her back to a realisation of their plight.

She reached over, dug her fingers into this side. 'Wake up,' she said, 'its morning, they'll be coming back.'

He rolled over to face her sleepily. 'No one's coming, Rose,' he answered and she frowned at him. 'Go and see for yourself.'

Cursing him for being obtuse she wrapped a newly freed sheet around her, shuffled to the door. It opened to her touch, revealing no one outside, nothing except the trees. She returned to the bed, confused; 'I don't understand.'

Squinting up at her, he explained, 'I came to get some psychic paper, yes? I thought you'd get fed up just being a plus one all the time, thought you should have some of your own.' Pushing himself up off the bed he walked to the door, swinging it wide to reveal the forest outside — 'Well, where do you think psychic paper comes from, Rose?' He gestured. 'Psychic trees.'

'Psycho Doctor,' she muttered. She still didn't understand.

'This whole planet just shows you what you want it to. Not me — telepathic already. The trees read your mind, give you what you want to see. In your case, you wanted homicidal orange monkeys. No idea why. You also wanted,' — and he grinned at her — 'to be locked in a bedroom with me. I knew what you were thinking as soon as I saw it.'

She gaped at him. 'You set me up,' she spluttered.

'Nope, just a bigger game of truth or dare. Only I already knew the truth when I walked in the door and I just wanted to see how far you'd go.'

She shook her head at him, disgusted. 'But why?'

He came to sit next to her on the bed, took her hand, staring at it clasped in his lap. He didn't seem able to meet her gaze. 'Because I was telling the truth. Always. I love you. And I wanted to know if you loved me. I could have read your mind but just for once I wanted to see what a happily ever after looked like.'

He squeezed her hand. 'Because that's what this is, isn't it? The beginning of a happily ever after?'

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